In My Head
by pictrometer
Summary: Everyone knew Jean Kirschstein was nursing a massive crush on Mikasa Ackerman. He just doesn't have to be such a dork about it. Meanwhile, Marco is a good friend.


Quick author's note. I know, I know, I'll make it quick. So, if anyone reads this at all, this is my first attempt at writing a... just writing a story in general and _publishing_ _it_. (Oh God, what is formatting. Heaven help me.) Leave me comments and tips about the grammar, the spellings, the format, your comments, anything.

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><p>Mikasa was the stuff of dreams.<p>

Her steely gaze, her smooth skin, her glossy pink lips, her mysterious dark hair.

Mmm, her hair. Jean dreamed of running his fingers through her hair as she rested her beautiful, intelligent head on his lap and they talked through the night about sweet nothings.

In fact, Jean's imagination had conjured up many visions of stolen moments with Mikasa since he had first seen her.

.

It was love at first sight. As she turned her cool stare upon him, he shivered and felt his breath stop in his throat. He won't admit he was too scared to exhale. He just didn't want to blow her away with the colossal sigh he was holding in. Heh. Yeah, that's it. Although, he mused, she might already be blown away by my charmingly good looks. He smirked. He's seen himself, he knows that he is a good-looking fellow. Not that he lets it get to his ego or anything, of course. She looked away, and he let his breath out in one giant gust. Marco looks at him strangely. That day he can't stop picturing her in his mind.

.

Now that they have been training together, Jean gets to see Mikasa a lot more often. When he sees her, his mind goes in overdrive. There she is, in all her feminine glory, beating the crap out of one lucky trainee. He can't stop imagining how sexy an _assertive_ girlfriend must be.  
>Absently, he wipes something wet from the corner of his mouth. He totally isn't drooling. Must've had something stuck there from breakfast.<p>

.

He'd been grumpy all morning, but when he heard that Mikasa would be in his sparring group, his elation broke through the roof and flew all the way up to the stars. Thank the heavens above, a chance to see his beautiful angel! It was his time to shine as Mr. McCool. Just casually sidle up next to Mikasa, ask the weakling she always totes around to a sparring match, and watch as Mikasa stands there in awe admiring his incredible fighting abilities. And then maybe she'd be so intrigued, she would ask him to spar with her. He'd turn her down of course because he would _never_ hurt a lady. Then maybe later, she'd pull him aside and plant a heart-fluttering kiss on his cheek with adoring eyes.

Ugh, when did he become such a sap.

Later, he stumbles in to his room and collapses on his bed, tired and sore from training. He falls asleep, thinking of Mikasa.

.

It was a warm, sunny day. The perfect kind to confess your feelings to a special someone. With a bubbling heart, he catches Mikasa on a rare moment she is apart from her two man-slaves, and takes her hand in his. Unf, so soft. He looks her in the eyes and the breeze gently blows her hair.

"I just wanted to tell you that you're the most beautiful woman I've met a-and...I...like you. A lot."

_Smooth_.

"I mean! I mean, I don't just like you because you're beautiful on the outside, you're beautiful on the inside too!"

Way to mess it up. Shut up, Jean.

He waits for her reply, ducking his head at his atrocious confession. His heart is pounding in his ears. If the earth could just open up and swallow him, please and thank you.

No such luck.

Instead of replying, she leans up and gently grabs his chin with delicate, long fingers. He looks up, surprised. If he thought his heart was pounding before, now it's up and left him for the hills. Come back heart! I need you for this!

But now she's leaning closer, closer, oh god, he thinks he's going to combust so he closes his eyes in anticipation. The moment he's been waiting for! This is-!

.

Marco sniggers, irritated for being woken, but amused. Marco, good friend, best friend, watches for a minute as Jean writhes around in the bed next to his. His legs are twisted in the sheets as he kicks them restlessly, while his arms are tightly wrapped around his pillow. It would almost seem he was awake, except he was loudly making out with his pillow. Could one even call it that? Maybe it was just slobbering. Anyways, he was too tired for feeling second-hand embarrassment. Snickering one last time, Marco shakes his shoulder.

"Jean!" He whispers loudly.

"Jean! Wake up! You're making a racket!"

Jean sits up like a jack-in-the-box. "Wha-? Huh? Wuzgoinon?" He mumbles into the dark.

"What the hell! Marco, it's still night!" He half-heartedly flings his pillow at Marco.

Did he just feel…saliva? He chooses not to think about that. "Jean you were having a bad dream!"

"I, oh...thanks man." Jean's face warms, that was definitely _not_ a bad dream.

Marco pretends to ignore his friend's blush, which is like a beacon in the night.

"No problem. Good night."

"Yeah, good night."

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><p>Sometime in the night, Mikasa shoots up in her bed, brow furrowed. Blurry images of kissing Jean on a warm day surface. She pinches her temples, rolling back on to her side. Ugh, just a bad dream.<p>

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><p>AN

I did some epic foreshadowing right from the first sentence. Did you guys see that?! :0 Thanks for reading. As you see, I do not take writing seriously. Jean is cliché on purpose. The writing is cheesy on purpose.


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